I'd Rather Die
by The Drainage
Summary: AU, non-brothers. "Hey, Dean. What would you do if you were going to die tomorrow?" How do you want to spend your last moments? Dean always thought his would be with Sam. Two years ago, Sam disappeared from his life. Now he's back and won't say why.


**Title: I'd Rather Die**

**Author: TheDrainageOne**

**Rating: T, for sparse swearing and some sexual content.**

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended.**

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><p><em>"There are things we don't want to happen, but have to accept. Things we don't want to know, but have to learn. And people we can't live without, but have to let go." – Criminal Minds<em>

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><p>People always think the world is coming to an end. It's always a different year for a different reason. The Mayan calendar is running out – the world's ending. The year 2000 is coming up – the world's ending. The Bible says so – the world's ending.<p>

"_Hey, Dean. What would you do if you were going to die tomorrow?"_

I got asked that question years ago by someone I cared about. Now I'm being asked that same question again. I don't answer for a while, and I let my next bite of steak hang lonely on the end of my fork. It's hard to eat and have nostalgia wash over you at the same time. Trust me on that.

"Dean? Are you listening?"

I snapp back into the present, the image of floppy, soft brown hair fading into the back of my mind. The person I am with now, Amanda, is staring at me expectantly. "What? Oh, yeah, sure. I saw on TV they were talking about that."

"Me too. I watched the special. They were interviewing people and asking them about what they'd do if the world ended tomorrow." Amanda takes a sip of her wine, blond hair falling in soft curls over her shoulder.

This is our second date. I'm not sure why we even had a first. She asked me out and I said yes.

"So, what would you do?" Amanda asks again.

I shrug a bit. "What does it matter? It's all over after that, anyway. For me, I'd just like to drink the day away until it ends." I don't mean it to be depressing. I guess it doesn't come across that way.

"Huh. That's so boring." Amanda's nose wrinkles a little in distaste at my answer.

And once again, I'm being told that I'm boring.

I lean back in my seat, study the rim of my water glass. "Then what would you do?" I ask.

Amanda's face lights up a little. "I'm not sure, but something fun. Like, maybe spend the day in Disneyworld."

I tune her out then, as equally bored with her answer as she had been with mine. She keeps talking, her words void of any meaning to me by now. I raise my wine glass to my lips and take a sip. For some reason, it doesn't have much of a taste.

"Dean?"

Suddenly, long, slender arms wrap around my shoulders and a warm cheek presses into the back of my neck. I choke a little on my wine in my surprise, but I recognize the voice instantly. I'll always recognize it.

The cheek moves and is replaced by lips, soft and moving as the newcomer murmurs into the nape top base of my skull. "You still smell fucking awesome. You haven't changed at all, Dean." The hands on my shoulders shift until one rests against my chest and the other curls near my throat.

"…Sam?" I ask, though I know for dead certain that it's him. Jesus Christ, it's him.

"Yatzee!" comes the cheerful confirmation. "Why didn't you ever call me? Heartless bastard." Sam moves himself closer to me, half on my lap now. A feat, considering he has three inches on me, though I have probably 20 lbs on him.

"Hey, knock it off." I make a feeble effort to shove him off.

"Um, Dean? Who's this?" Amanda asks uncertainly.

I turn to her, one of my hands placed on the underside of Sam's jaw to keep him away from my face. "Him? He's, ah, a friend from college—"

"I'm his ex-boyfriend," Sam chimes in, lips spreading in a grin that's pressed against my cheek. His kiss is loud.

Amanda's eyes widen. "Seriously?" Without another word, she grabs her purse and slides out of her chair, marching toward the door in a way I didn't think would be possible in such high heels.

I shove Sam away from me and start to follow her. Shit, I forgot to pay the bill. I drop a couple hundreds on the table and hurry toward the door, trying to call after her. I follow her out of the restaurant and she ignores me, shockingly. _Shit_.

Sam's behind me now, long fingers tugging down the rim of his blue and green hat over his hair. It's longer than before, his hair that is.

"Forget her. What did you see in her, anyway? Seemed like the type to marry a guy for his money, if you ask me. Just dump her." Sam scoffs.

I sigh, pinch the bridge of my nose between my forefinger and thumb. "She's my boss's daughter."

"Oh. Oops."

I half turn to get a look at Sam. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette, raises it to his lips. He smiles a small smile to himself, eyes cast away from me. "Sorry," he says, "I guess I screwed up your life again." He doesn't sound sorry. But he doesn't sound glad, either.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Nothin'."

I pause a second, trying to stop myself from asking. I fail miserably. "So, you still think I'm boring." Not really a question, but I want to know. It still bothers me.

"Well…" Sam hedges, not caught off guard at all. Damn him, not one ruffled feather.

Sam's the man who dumped me because he thought I was boring. We used to date in college. We lived together up until two years ago. God, I hope I'm over him.

Then Sam looks up from lighting his cigarette, the tip glowing orange and bright in the night air. "You _are_ boring."

My jaw ticks, and I don't answer. I just start to walk and pretend not to notice when Sam comes with me.

,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

"So, you still live in the same place?" Sam cranes his head to look at the less-than-modern apartment building that we used to share. "Ah, the good old days." He's got that smile again.

"Why the hell are you following me?" I don't look back as I arrived at my apartment door. I don't know why I never moved out. I sure as shit hope it's not because I'd been holding out for Sam would come back someday. That would be too pathetic. Really pathetic. Really… Especially because I'm over him.

"What? You're not even going to say, 'Welcome back'?"

That ticks me off. I pull up in front of my door and turn around to glare at him. "Just get lost, okay?"

Sam ignores me, strides right past me and pulls his hand out of his pocket to reveal a key. He opens my apartment door by himself and holds it open for me after he steps across the threshold.

Dammit. "You still have the _spare key_?"

Sam's answer is light and cheery. "Guess I forgot to give it back. Come on in."

I do as he says, but grudgingly. Cheeky bastard.

He looks happy when I flick on the lights, letting him see the old place. It's basically the same as before he moved out. Actually, it's exactly the same.

He makes a beeline for the couch, and before I can say anything, he flops down onto it, looking happy. "You still have this? Wow. I missed my favorite sofa." He bounces a little, and his expression softens. "Jeez, it's like memory lane or some shit."

An image of before flashes into my head. Sam, his hair shorter, sitting on the couch as bare as can be, thin arms wrapped around his legs as he waits for me to come to him. He was smiling then, too, but different. That same smile he always had right before we…

"Hey, you remember how often we did it here? Look at all the stains." He pokes at the fabric of the furniture.

And that's enough to derail my train of thought and bring me back to the present. He left me, and it was because I was _boring_. "Get the hell out."

"Oh come on. Let's have a drink." Sam hops off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen, striding around like he never left the place.

"Sam! Enough already." I reach out and catch his wrist, intending to pull him to the door. Surprise catches me off guard when I feel how easily my fingers encircle skin and bone. I let go slowly, searching his face. "Have you lost weight?"

Sam looks down, the lightness from before gone now. "Wanna…" he moves closer, this time taking my wrist, "check it out yourself?" He moves my hand to the hem of his shirt, slides my fingers up underneath. His skin is soft and warm under my palm. Heat flares fast and hard in my gut.

I jerk away from him, shove him back a little. "I said enough!"

A smile that doesn't reach his eyes touches Sam's mouth. "Seriously. You still can't take a joke." He shakes his head, exhales. "You really haven't changed at all. You're such a stiff."

I take a step back, turn away and lean against the kitchen sink, my fingers curled over the rim. "Is that why you left me?" I ask, because apparently I can't just take the hit and let it go. I need to go another round, it seems. "I know I'm not the most fun person to be around." It's true. I'm an accountant for God's sake.

Sam says nothing. I can't see his face. Suddenly I can't take it. I don't want him here, not if I can't touch him. Not if he…

"Just take your ass and your playful attitude and get out. Go back to wherever you came from, Sam."

"…I'm sorry for what I said."

Surprise pricks me like a needle under my skin. I feel a little dizzy from it and bite hard on my teeth. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Well, I… I came here because I thought you might want to hang out some. You know, reminisce about the past. Guess I was wrong." Sam moves a little closer, and I can hear him run a hand through his hair. He does that when he was frustrated. Or nervous. "It's just that when I overheard your answer to that question at dinner, I couldn't help remembering that it's not that different than the answer you gave me. When I heard what you said, I knew it had to be you."

"You were at the restaurant that long?"

"Yep. The booth behind you. But seriously, even if your answer was the truth, it wasn't the most tactful thing to say to your date." Sam picks at loose skin around his fingernail. "I couldn't just sit there and listen."

He'd been there the whole time. I feel struck, like somehow I should have felt him sitting right there, close enough to touch.

"Hey Dean. Do you…still remember my answer?" Again I say nothing. Sam keeps talking. "I thought. I thought if I came to apologize, maybe you would…"

He stops talking, and I stop listening. I still remember when he left. It's kind of hard to forget the day the person you love just walks out, no explanation except…

"_Sam! Wait, Sam!" I chased after him, pushing my glasses back up the bridge of my nose as they slipped in the cold sweat that had broken out on my skin. "Where are you going? Tell me! Sam!"_

"_It has nothing to do with you!" Sam kept walking, duffle slung over one shoulder, suitcase clutched in his other hand. "I've decided to move out. I'm moving in with someone else. He's a great guy."_

_Something sick curled into my stomach. I thought I might pass out. I thought I might want to smash something._

"_Why?" The fight had gone out of me. I felt heavy, and I felt broken. He was leaving. "Because I always come home late? Is that it?" I wanted to understand. If I understood, I could fix it. Only, Sam still wouldn't look at me._

_Sam slowed down, turned halfway to me and sighed like I was bothering him, like I wasn't the man he'd lived with for so long._

_"You just don't get it, do you?" He jerked around then, anger hardening his face. "If you really cared, you would have done something about it without me spelling it out!"_

Spell what out?_I wanted to ask. I was lost. I didn't know what to change to make him stay._

"_Dean, look… I've been wanting to tell you… I just... I'm tired of living like this with you."_

_All I could feel was shock that numbed me to my bones Finally, he looked at me then. I couldn't read the expression on his face. My gaze caught on Sam's, and we just stared at each other for a second. The space between us shifted and bent strangely, and all I wanted to do was close the distance, get my hands on him again, taste his skin, bend him and break him and never mind the rest. I wanted all of him._

"_Goodbye."_

_He walked away._

_He was gone, and I was drowning._

When I look up, once again in the present, Sam has got his hat in his hands, playing with it and looking at it like he could see what I had just seen. And maybe he had, because the next thing he says…

"I know what I did was bad. I can't ever forget it."

"I didn't think you'd remember all that," I say to him, "…But you wish you could forget, right?"

Sam's hazel eyes seek me out, and I turn away. I can't.

"You're the forgetful one, Dean. Remember we promised to spend our last moments together?"

I laugh a little, mostly because it's something to do other than scream. "You gotta be kidding me." My hands grip the sink tight, knuckles as white as the tiles. "I never promised that. Not ever."

The air shifts as Sam comes closer. His big hand covers mine and in a second, his mouth pressed to my lips. For a split second, I let him. For just a split second, I want to kiss him back. I don't. I put my hand on his chest and shove him back with enough force that he hits the side of the wall with a thud. I'm breathing hard now, and the hand that I pushed him with is curled up tight.

Sam's eyes darken, and he smiles sadly. "…Sorry." He picks his hat up off the floor where it had fallen and pulls it over his slightly shaggy hair. He moves toward the door. The hinges creak when it opens.

Suddenly I can't breathe. Suddenly it's two years ago and I'm letting him go. I know what happens after this. I can feel the world warp and crumble around me as it happens again.

And I can't do it this time.

I move forward fast. One hand grips Sam's shoulder as he crosses the threshold, and the other hooks around his jaw, bringing his mouth to mine as I pull him back into the apartment.

"_Hey, Dean. What would you do if you were going to die tomorrow?"_

_I thought about it for a second. "Sleep."_

_Sam made a face at me. His bitch face, I thought fondly. "What kind of answer is that?"_

_We were lying in bed, both on our stomachs, and Sam had a cigarette balanced between two fingers, hand hovering over the ashtray, catching the falling ash that he was neglecting._

"_What else am I supposed to do if I'm only gonna live one more day? I might as well stay home and just eat, drink and sleep," I elaborated._

"_Man, that's so boring. I swear, you're such a stiff, Dean."_

_I frowned a little, annoyed. "Then what would you do?"_

_A delighted smile lights up Sam's face. "I'd have sex until I died."_

_Quirking an eyebrow at him, I shook my head. "That's too much work for the last day on earth. I'd rather take it easy if it's all going to be over so soon."_

"_Forget you. If you have your way, our last meal would be nothing but a TV dinner."_

_Irritation swept through me. I sat up, facing my back to him. "Fine. Whatever. Have your full course meal of fancy French food or whatever."_

"_Now you're just sulking," Sam murmured behind me._

_There were a few seconds of silence of me_not_sulking before I felt a painful pinch on my shoulder blade. "Ow! Jesus, Sam!"_

"_Sorry. You've got this scab that's just hanging there. Can't help it."_

_I flinched as the jerk kept peeling the scab. I craned my neck to try and find the scab, running my fingers over it. There were more in the shape of scratches. Without thinking, I muttered, "How the hell did I get that?" It didn't take long for me to get it._

_Sam blushed a little, remembering that night the second I did. I felt my blood rush a little faster just at the thought. That was a good night._

_I reached for a cigarette, Sam's nails still scratching at my back, though gentler now._

"_What would happen to us?" He smoothed the tips of his fingers over the rough, healing skin. "Will you stay with me when the world ends?"_

"…_Stop picking on my scabs."_

The end of the world didn't come. Not the whole world, anyway. But Sam left that summer two years ago.

Suddenly, now, we're both stripped below the waist. Suddenly I have Sam beneath me, wrists pinned down over his head and his skin stretching so smooth and taut as he breathes in fast and hard. My hips are pressed to his and Sam's arching, the structure of his ribs showing and I want to taste every bone, follow the dips and rises with my tongue and teeth. I'm grinding down against him, hard and careless as I thrust inside him. I barely remember how we got here, and I barely care now.

I push in again, not waiting for him to adjust any more, and pull out only to shove back inside with a quick snap of my hips. My hands move from his wrists to the backs of his knees and I lift his legs, changing the angle of my thrusts to get deeper inside him. He bites down on a moan and pushes against me, pulling me in nearly as hard as I'm pushing. His back curves when I hit that place inside him, his mouth open even though no sound but harsh breathing comes out.

I jerk at his knees again, sliding him closer to me, driving down into him. I hadn't even fully removed my pants. My belt clinks when it hit his skin, the metal sticking briefly before pulling away again.

"D…Dean… Dean!" Sam cries out, fingers clawing hard against my back.

My breathing is harsh and ragged, and I can't look away from him.

Sam opens his eyes, his lips parted as he gasps my name. "Dean…sorry." And he looks sorry this time. He looks like his damn heart just broke.

I don't say anything, just lean down and cover his mouth with mine, my tongue shoving and licking at his. _Shut up_.

,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

When I wake the next morning, Sam's gone. He left the spare key on the nightstand next to me. I pick it up, and I feel something inside snap so deep that it almost makes a sound.

I bring my arm back and hurl the key across the room. It slams into the metal trash can next to my dresser. For a moment I stand there and let my anger simmer. But there's nothing to break, no one to yell at, and more importantly, there's no Sam.

I move to the trash to retrieve the key. I can't leave it there – there are a number of homeless addicts who live in the area and would take advantage of finding something like that.

I rummage through the garbage until I find the round-top, silver key resting in an empty six egg carton. Something else metallic glints and catches my eye. It's a foil wrapper. I pick it up and examine it. The name of a drug is spelled out across the front; I don't recognize it.

What in the world? "Drugs?"

Why did he come here? It's so out of character for him. There has to be a reason for it.

Then, suddenly and horribly, it clicks.

"_Have you lost weight?"_

The look on his face last night when we fucked. _"Dean…sorry."_

"_Hey, Dean. What would you do if you were going to die tomorrow?"_

"God _damn it_, Sam."

,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

I don't know where to look for him, and I have no one to ask. So I run. And I hope that he hasn't gone too far for me to reach him. I keep running, and somehow, miraculously, I see that ugly blue and green hat he was wearing sticking up over the top of the gray stones in the cemetery. My heart kicks painfully, and I make my way to him.

I'm embarrassingly out of breath by the time I reach him. He's got the corner of his sweater in one hand, wiping away the dirt on a gravestone. My breathing draws his attention, and he narrows his eyes at me.

"Dean? What are you doing here?"

At that point, it's all I can do to thrust out a hand and point accusingly at him. Or, that's what I want to do. It turns out more like me leaning on my knee with one hand and waving the other hand limply in his general direction. "You… are you… sick?" Fear twists my insides even as I say it. It grabs a hold of my spine with cold fingers, and I almost can't bring myself to hear his answer.

Sam blinks once. "What?" He stands up, long limbs stretching out. "Are you okay?"

"The…the drug," I clarify, inhaling deeply, trying to get myself together. Shit, I'm too out of shape.

"Huh?"

"I saw it this morning…in the garbage." Finally, my lungs seem to remember how to move right, and I'm not panting as hard.

"Oh. Yeah, the heat makes me lose my appetite, so I take this pill that lets me eat."

For a moment I don't believe him. I think he's lying to me, because why else would he have come to see me after all this time? But then I remember – he always did have problems with eating, and especially when temperature got too warm. It had always been a chore making sure he got enough food in him.

I want to be a little ticked at him for making me worry, but that's drowned out by the wash of relief I feel. I crouch to the ground, rest my elbows on my knees and drop my head into my hands. "Thank God…"

,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

"My grandpa passed away last month. He'd been sick for a long time."

We sat on the steps leading out of the cemetery. I lean forward on my knees, staring at an ant crawling in and out of a crack on the sidewalk. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sam's legs stretched out in front of him, the lines as graceful as I remember. My chest tightens.

"When I was little, Grandpa used to take care of me. Since we're the only two living relatives left on my Mom's side…"

I nod and push my glasses back up the bridge of my nose. It's a little damp with sweat from my run. "I remember that," I say. That was how I had found Sam's address in the school registry. I remember wanting to see him, to spend time with him. That feeling never went away.

"So. He was the 'guy' you left me for?" I ask.

Sam frowns around the unlit cigarette perched between his lips. He pinches the rolled paper between two fingers. "You caught me." He fiddles with the cigarette, looking it over. "Well, he was technically a man…"

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I had my reasons."

When I don't say anything further, just look at him, Sam sighs. His eyes look green out here.

"Think about it, Dean. You're not gay to begin with. If a hadn't gone after you, you would've had a girlfriend a long time ago." He pulls out his lighter and puts the flame to his cigarette, takes a breath through it and lets it go. "Instead, you ended up living with me. I thought you'd be better off if your last moment on earth was with a cute girl picking at your scabs."

I shoot him a glance. "A cute girl picking my scabs?... I'd rather not."

Sam doesn't answer, he just puts the cigarette back to his lips.

"Then why did you ruin my date last night?" I'd wondered that from the beginning.

When I look at him, a blush has stolen across his cheeks. It makes me want to touch him, hold his hand, be closer to him.

Sam scoffs after a moment and turns away. "Jeez. Sorry. Won't happen again."

"Don't worry about it." I reach over to him and pluck the cigarette from his mouth, not pulling away until Sam's eyes lock on me and his face reddens even more. I toss the cigarette aside and move back to my seat.

Sam clears his throat a little. "Grandpa…before he passed away, he was calling out a girl's name. It wasn't my grandma." He draws a knee to his chest, rests his chin on it. His face is tilted down, blocked by his hair and the rim of his hat. "But even before that, I always intended to apologize to you."

"I see."

"I don't want to have any regrets in my last moment."

I can't help it then. I move until I'm touching him and grab that horrible hat, lift it away from his face. He turns into me, and I draw him close enough that I can press my lips to his forehead. He's crying now, silently, and curls against my chest. I can feel his heartbeat, and it's like I've just woken up from a two year coma.

"Sorry," Sam murmurs into the collar of my shirt.

"I think you've apologized enough."

"Dean…" He breathes in, hitched like a kid who's been upset, "I can't let you go. I can't live without you in my life. I don't want to be like my grandpa and realize that when I'm at the end I can't fix it. Even if I have to spend my last moment in our room. I just want it to be with you."

I wrap one hand around the back of his neck and my other arm I rest around his back. Idiot. I'm not letting him go again either. I shouldn't have the first time.

"How about I let you pick at my scabs?" I say softly to him. I hope he understands.

A hand curls into the front of my button-up, and Sam presses harder against me. "Okay," he says, voice quiet, "I'll scratch your back for you…in the shower."

I smile and press another kiss to the top of his head, hold him tighter.

"But, Dean?"

I pause and listen, ready to deal with anything.

"I don't want our last meal to be a TV dinner…"

"…I take it all back."

Sam laughs, tears stopping their flow. He looks up at me, really happy for the first time since I've seen him again.

I don't care what we're doing when that last moment comes. I'll do anything, so long as he's there with me.

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><p><em>"I have loved to the point of madness; That which is called madness, That which to me, is the only sensible way to love." -Francois Sagan<em>

END


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